


The Lion's Den

by purplekitte



Category: Horus Heresy - Various Authors, Warhammer 40.000
Genre: M/M, PWP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-28
Updated: 2017-01-12
Packaged: 2019-09-15 08:54:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16930221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/purplekitte/pseuds/purplekitte
Summary: The Lion had certainly thought he’d gotten off to a good start, but now he had to admit, if only to himself, that he wasn’t sure if he was doing it right or not.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Brightest Idea AU

The Lion had certainly thought he’d gotten off to a good start, but now he had to admit, if only to himself, that he wasn’t sure if he was doing it right or not. He had thought the whole idea ridiculous, but like Guilliman’s calm nod of acceptance, he gathered this could have strategic value, though it was the sort of socialisation tactical considerations he was at least aware he did not understand, however much that helped.

Russ had dragged him off and that seemed quite sensible, for all that he didn’t think their feud was quite a feud these days, as far as he could tell, and it wasn’t like he was in near-open warfare with a host of his brothers, like, say, some people who had their arm over his shoulders, so this would be a natural place to start while waiting and watching to see how others reacted and things played out. Russ seemed not just willing towards the whole plan but quite possibly a co-conspirator. The Lion wondered if Horus had approached Russ first and drawn him into his web, because it both seemed like good tactics and like a plan Russ would have come up with or would have agreed didn’t sound crazy--unlike anyone else, and explained the arguments they weren’t having now on principle between Russ’ problem with authority, for all the Lion couldn’t imagine Russ had wanted the position of Warmaster for himself.

The more he made an effort to work things out sensibly, the more the Wolf King laughed--as was his want, the bastard. The Lion punched him, Russ wrestled him down in turn, and their fight went about how it usually did, within the common margin of error, until Russ licked past his stomach and...

From there, there was only heat and wet, sticky things his body kept doing without his permission. He let it, because this was supposed to help something, even if he didn’t understand what that would be or why it would, if only he could just ask Lu-- He let it, and observed, always, from somewhere distant and detached, and amazed at the arch of his back, the way the part of him that was viscerally attached to his body panted and hungered for more--hands tangled in his braids and legs wrapped around to him to urge him deeper, harder, never stop doing that, Russ, fuck.

That had been as advertised, what they were supposed to be doing, now accomplished. He had probably gone wrong, he retrospectively decided, when he’d accepted Russ’ offer that the Lion rest while he scouted. It had seemed like a good idea at the time, being less sure of how he was supposed to react to anyone he saw and his body sore and longing for sleep after the unfamiliar hormone rush from their exertions.

The problem was the pattern they’d fallen into. The Lion kept meaning to venture abroad, but each time he’d prepared himself he was interrupted by Russ returning from whatever mischief he was getting up to to descend upon the Lion again with hot kisses and tangled legs and every trick he knew to make the Lion’s body shudder around him. He fed him meat from his own hands from whatever larder he was raiding, and drank as much as he usually did. Sometimes, for variety, Russ slept with him--sprawled on top of him and curled around him and up against him--and lured the Lion back into the pillows as soon as he’d tried to pull away in the morning with his wet mouth and clever tongue, and _he_ only ever seemed _more_ energised afterwards to disappear again.

It was, the Lion concluded, deeply frustrating on some animal level that warned against being trapped however comfortable and easily fortified his position was, against not knowing the lay of the land. More logically, he was also obediently doing what the Warmaster had ordered, giving him no cause to complain, and getting it out of the way with the minimum of fuss, so there was that.

He was still undecided when Russ returned, which was analogous to agreeing for now to more time wasted spreading his legs for him, but the footsteps were wrong, not merely a product of the muffling of good architecture or someone else coincidentally passing by. Russ wasn’t alone.

Of all people, the Lion wouldn’t have expected Guilliman. Not that he was surprised by Russ going after Guilliman, he was entirely aware of the medley of tastes each time Russ returned to him--foreign sweat on his skin, foreign come on his tongue, he was learning to recognise his brothers second-hand--but why he had dragged this one back to his den instead of enjoying him elsewhere? It was anomalous, and anomalies generally had underlying reasons, and, when people were involved, underlying motivations. Unfortunately, the Lion never entirely trusted he was correct about such things even when he could think of speculation.

‘He,’ Russ indicated Guilliman, as if there might be someone else he was speaking of with his arm under both of Guilliman’s as he lead him along, ‘has a massive crush on you.’

‘That is not how I would put it,’ Guilliman complained in return.

‘While I’m not one to purposefully miss a moment of hilarity, I’d rather you not be too obtuse. To paraphrase, “Oh Lion, I want to talk strategy with you all night. I admire you so much, and want to lick you all over.”’

‘I did not say any of that.’

‘Obviously,’ the Lion agreed.

‘Roboute, do you want to fuck him or not?’

The Lion certainly had to feel a sense of commiseration with anyone over having to deal with Russ.

‘I will agree with the fact my opinion of you is respect rather than animosity. On the other hand, that hardly means intimacy between us would be a negative.’

‘What’s your angle here?’ the Lion asked Russ.

‘Seeing two hot blonds go at it,’ Russ said without pause, then added, ‘And I’m doing Rob here a favour and everything.’

‘I can’t express how appreciative I am.’

‘I’m sure I’ll find a way for you to make it up to me later,’ Russ replied with a grin and a raised eyebrow, purposefully ignoring the sarcasm.

Guilliman sat down next to the Lion on the bed. ‘I’d thought you would be averse because you’ve been avoiding everyone.’

‘Not everyone, unfortunately.’ Russ snorted in response to his statement, and it was a stretch of the truth if not a lie. ‘Of all people, I would have been most willing to ally with you if you had sought to take shelter away from it all.’

‘If you would like an alliance to kick that one out, you have my support, brother. I would take refuge with you for a time, or whatever else you would also be willing to do.’

‘Why Roboute, you are propositioning me.’ He made his tone light and easy. A joke in case he needed to laugh it off.

Guilliman leaned over and cupped the side of his face gently, fingers combining through his hair. ‘I suppose I am. Do you mind?’

‘No.’ He didn’t, especially compared to many of their brothers he thought little of and less of it good. It also occurred to him the whole idea of being demure was rather silly when he was lounging naked in a bed well stained with his and Russ’ passions, still smelling of them even after his latest shower.

The kiss was soft, not quite tentative so much as studious. Even as it deepened it lacked the edge of dominance and feral aggression of Russ’ kisses in favour of careful exploration and maximum effect per expenditure once he’d drawn conclusions. It gave the Lion the opportunity to figure out how to kiss back as well, because responding to one of Russ’ kisses was more a matter of holding on.

When Guilliman pulled back, neither the warmth in his eyes nor his soft smile were surprises, but his words as he stroked the Lion’s hair were. ‘Do you have any idea how beautiful you are?’

‘Abstractly. I don’t spend all day admiring myself in a mirror like Fulgrim.’

Guilliman laughed, and Russ laughed louder and flopped at their feet like a huge, shaggy blanket. The Lion took the opportunity to kick him, but Russ didn’t do much except nuzzle the soles of his feet and curl up just out of their way, watching with keen, darkened eyes.

Guilliman’s next kiss was like his laugh, a mere brush of pressure and breath before it was over, but its very absence left his lips tingling in its wake.

‘If you want me, take me.’

Guilliman’s breath caught and his eyes fluttered closed for a moment at that. ‘I will,’ he said, voice rougher and deeper in his throat.

Guilliman explored his body. Russ seemed to be able to find spots he liked instinctively, but Guilliman was thorough. Very thorough, he thought, every time a lick to the inside of his elbow or fingers caressing the curve of muscle just above his knee made him shiver in new ways. There was a certain reverence there, he wanted to say, beyond interest, beyond care.

As he explored his body in turn, the Lion had to admit he had often envied Guilliman. He didn’t feel the deep inferiority where he was concerned that some of their brothers did, but he respected him both on a number of matters he understood and ones he acknowledged the Lord of the Ultramarines at without possessing either the interest or the skill himself. What he envied were more trivial things, ones he would never bring up, because their was either nothing to be done about them or the very mention would give away more than he’d meant to. He envied the dogmatic loyalty in phalanx after phalanx that could be taken for granted. While Guilliman might find his beauty pleasant to look upon, it wasn’t something the Lion had ever wanted or felt any use for. He liked being strong, but not too bulky for easy movement, but personally would have preferred the solid, utilitarian features of a mastercrafted tool like Guilliman possessed rather than having people think him ‘pretty’.

Guilliman brushed fingers over his entrance, but the Lion pushed them away impatiently. His body was not out of practice in being fucked. Still, it was always surprising as he was entered; once the sensation faded into memory he could never quite grasp how good it felt in that moment, how much he wanted it. Guilliman held him close, and Russ reached up to steady him and keep him in place.

From there, it was all sensation, and watching his own mind give in to it. The friction of Guilliman moving inside him and the inexorable rise of pressure inside of him at each steady thrust, like waves wearing down stone. The massage of fingers against his lower back. How fascinating it was to hear himself think _Yes, more, I want you._

His breath caught, and though he didn’t understand a thing in Guilliman’s blue eyes as he smiled, he thought for a whimsical moment that it was beautiful. Then his brother was coming too, burying his face in his shoulder so the Lion couldn’t see it anymore and shivering all over as he pressed the lengths of their bodies together even closer. The Lion wasn’t sure exactly what he should do, what he wanted to do, but he enjoyed the feel of Guilliman’s short hair, his broad back, his well-muscled ass as his hands quested aimlessly.

Russ rolled over to curl against his back, trapping the Lion between the two of them. He could feel Russ’ hardness, but the rest of his body language was the languid satisfaction of having just had the Lion himself as he reached around to wrap his arms around Guilliman as well and keep them all pressed together.

‘Thank you,’ Guilliman said quietly into the Lion’s neck, though he was unsure if he meant for the sex itself or some other aspect of the situation that eluded him.

‘It was nothing.’

For a moment he suspected Guilliman and Russ were sharing a look, but they didn’t say anything to tell him their conclusions, just nuzzled back against his skin.

It was sticky and an uncomfortable mess of ceramite bones and reeked and it would be difficult to respond to a threat, especially from one of the people so close.

He hadn’t really wanted to go anywhere anyway until they could finally leave.


	2. Morning After

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The next morning, Russ gets his turn in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WIP sequel

Guilliman awoke to the slight tightening of the Lion’s grip on his upper arms. He took in the scene before him instantly, but his mind wanted to luxuriate over every detail. The Lion’s fingers digging into his flesh, the way his breathing was quiet and even but he was biting his lip and his eyes were tightly shut. Russ moving behind him, face hidden by golden hair and growls muffled by the Lion’s neck.

It was different than but similar to how the Lion had looked a few hours ago with Guilliman moving inside him. This time Guilliman could give his full attention to the look on his face, the tensing of his muscles, and all the tiny cues he gave of how much he was enjoying himself without the distraction of his own pleasure.

The Lion was stunningly beautiful, but so out of touch with his own emotions and those of people around him. Even Guilliman thought that. He sometimes wondered why Lorgar couldn’t have managed to get into a feud with their other brother instead.

And he really did not need to be thinking of Lorgar, crying out under him, cursing him and begging for it harder all in one.

The Lion flinched in surprise as Guilliman leaned forward to kiss him, but he didn’t pull away and rubbed against his leg eagerly as he moved closer. Russ spared Guilliman a grin, but continued his work on the Lion. Guilliman could feel the force of his thrusts through the body between them, could tell by the hitches in their brother’s breath every time he found the exact right angle.

No wonder Russ had been practically drooling to watch them together.

The Lion shuddered between them and gasped for breath, unable to remain perfectly stoic. Guilliman reached down a hand to work him through his orgasm, making the Lion shiver violently with sensation and getting his fingers wet and sticky.

Russ pulled out slowly, dropping kisses along the Lion’s neck and shoulders. He was still hard, and Guilliman had to look away rather than stare at how his erection throbbed, but not before Russ caught his eye and grinned wider.

Leaving behind a glassy-eyed Lion sprawled on the bed, Russ pounced across him to land against Guilliman’s back and roll closer to press against him. ‘Going to fuck us both?’ he asked, happy how his voice sounded: light and teasing, and rough with lust.

‘Aye. Think I was bragging about my prowess?’

‘Oh, you were bragging alright.’ Guilliman ground back against him and let himself be rolled over onto his stomach, half on the bed and half on the Lion. ‘But I never believed you were all bark and no bite.’


	3. Angron/Russ, WIP

‘ _You_ would think this is a good idea. Revelling in being ordered here.’ Angron snorted. ‘You want another notch on your belt?’

‘Actually, I want you to fuck me.’

Angron hadn’t gotten going, the Nails hadn’t started biting in earnest, so he was capable of stopping short. He had expected to need to chase Russ off with a good pounding, him with his swagger and casual assurance that the galaxy belonged to him, that no one could say no to him without going against the Warmaster’s intentions or would.

‘Why? I don’t expect submission from the Wolf King.’

‘Because I don’t hate you, brother, and I don’t look down on you for any of the reasons you think I do. I don’t expect you to ever like me, but when you think of me I’d rather you be reminded of how I felt under you, and that I let you without reservations. I don’t care if it leads nowhere but you mocking me for playing the woman to you next time we meet.’

‘I’m not known for my memory.’ Or any conscious thought that wasn’t fragmented and broken for that matter.

‘I can remind you anytime, though I hope to be unforgettable.’ That was Russ’ grin, like fate was convenient and went just how was most convenient for him. ‘You don’t have to hold anything back; I can take it.’

Angron’s eyes twitched spastically. ‘Bad enough you’re a cur who expects everyone to lick the boot of one who kicks you like you would, but now you’re just asking for it.’

‘I couldn’t be asking any more clearly: Fuck me.’ He made it sound like a challenge.

[...]

He’d wondered if Russ intended to lie there and take it, but he was no passive participant; he surged against Angron, kissing and biting and pressing them together. It infuriated Angron how he wrestled with him, but for fun, not as one fought a contest he intended to win. Angron wanted to hurt him, wanted to make this a contest of life or death he needed to win rather than watch someone fight him like it was a game when so many better men and women had died wanting to live.

[...]

To his annoyance, Russ had not been unsuccessful. It took conscious effort to remember why he hated him so much, while what naturally came to the forefront of his mind from looking at Russ was how good it had felt to be inside him, with his fingers digging into Angron’s back to urge him on.


End file.
